


Just a Kiss

by Murdersfriesandgayguys



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Desire, Diary, Hannibal is dead, M/M, trigger warning: mentions of sucide, will is grieving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16849903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murdersfriesandgayguys/pseuds/Murdersfriesandgayguys
Summary: Will Graham is writing to Hannibal Lecter who lays in his grave, letting his emotions out.





	Just a Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I’m just word vomiting sad again and I hope you love it.

May 16th, 2014.

My doctors tell me that a good way to cope with things is by writing a diary. You never would have suggested anything like that. It’s so trivial. All of this means nothing to me. Everything they say blows up my brain like a balloon, their words inflating and inflating and inflating to the point where I fear I might pop if I stay here any longer. A week in the hospital. That’s it. They promised it’d only be a week and then I can get on with my life.

In a week you’ll be buried and I know that. How I wish they could cremate you and let me scatter your ashes in the places that you loved, places you lived, visited, admired. Florence, Paris, Baltimore, Lithuania, maybe even Wolf Trap. You always were quite fond of Wolf Trap. It always made me laugh to see you running around the fields with the dogs and trying to keep your perfectly polished shoes spotless. 

I want to attend the funeral. I really do. My entire being yearns to see you just one more time, even if I can’t see that fire behind your eyes that always seemed to be flickering, that smug little smile that always seemed to play on your lips. Your eyes will be closed, your face in repose. I hope they pick out a nice suit for you. That prison jumpsuit never suited you very well. Not even you could make that shitshow look good. 

Okay, so, I guess it’s time I finally told you. I never wanted to tell you in person because I knew you’d smirk at me and I can’t stand that stupid smirk, but I love you. I love Hannibal Lecter. 

I only wish I could have told you, held you, kissed you. I always had an image of us sitting on a boat in Florence with glasses of wine in our free hands (the others were joined together, you see.), judging the people who walked, swam, cycled past us. You’d tilt your nose to the sky and plainly state something like, “people have no charm nowadays. He was just using a mobile phone on a bike. That’s terribly distasteful.” And I’d just laugh at you and nod along like I knew what was happening. As the sun started to sink into the waters, we’d gaze at each other like nothing else mattered in the world and I’d kiss you (feverishly, may I add.) and we’d sail away. Sail off to whatever country you desired. We’d sail to the arctic if you wanted to. 

I’m a fool, Hannibal. You always made me feel smarter than I really am and I hate you for it. I’m a fool. You had me under your spell, you gave me tokens of your love and I didn’t get the hint until it was too late and we were plunging down the side of that cliff. I remember it so clearly, despite my panic. You held me tight, my head covered by your arms, my body shielded by your own. We hit the rocks when we landed. I remember the sound of your skull crushing into the jagged points, that shaky, half scream that erupted from your lips as you died on impact, leaving me to fend for myself against the torrent of endless waves that battered my body into the rocks. I managed to pull you ashore only to find that the back of your head was completely caved in, yet, still, you looked entirely stunning. Your lips were blue, your fingertips chilled to the touch, but you were beautiful.

I laid there on the sand with you all night, fighting off any birds or insects that tried to make their home in you until the police came and we were torn apart. 

I screamed for you, I hope you know that. 

They told me that I might feel groggy for the next few days, but my mind feels clearer than it’s ever been. I see you, over and over, hitting your head off the rocks, hear your scream replaying like a broken record in my mind. All I want to remember is your arms around me, all I’m able to remember is you letting me go as the impact killed you, shattered you, shattered me in turn.

I never thought I’d be so lost without you, Hannibal Lecter. I never thought that I could survive without you either, but I’m willing to give it a try, for your sake. I know this letter will never reach you, but I hope that you can see me, take care of me while I aimlessly stumble through life in your absence. You gave me all that I could ever need, and now I’m going to try and flourish without you.

This isn’t goodbye. It can’t be. Somehow I still expect you to get up and walk away it off as if I didn’t feel the empty silence in your chest or the stillness of your lungs. As if I didn’t see the blood pouring from the back of your head and colouring the sand pink. As if I didn’t hear that scream, that goddamned scream that brought me to my knees, made me weak with pain, made my heart scream for you. 

It pains me that we’ll never have that moment where we look into each other’s eyes and fall in love for the first time, or feel your lips against mine, your warm hands against my bare skin. It makes me ache for you. I wonder how you would be feeling right now if our roles were reversed. I can’t see you wanting to live. I can picture you with a noose around your neck, like the time with Matthew Brown, only, this time, no bucket beneath your feet to balance you. 

You’re stronger than that, right? You wouldn’t take the coward’s way out. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m the same, that I’m strong enough to live through this, return to Molly and act like nothing happened, only, you and I both know that isn’t true. I’m going to suffer here for the rest of my own miserable life because you decided to save me instead of yourself. I resent you for it. It would have been easier if we had of both died. It would have saved me from living with the pain of dying inside for the rest of my time on this earth.

This isn’t the last time I’ll write to you. This isn’t the last time we’ll see each other. 

Until then, I love you,

Will Graham.


End file.
